


Wild Honey Pie

by fullofbloodandhoney



Series: Rubber Soul Verse [2]
Category: Glee, Glee RPF
Genre: Comedy, Domestic, Fred the kitten, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofbloodandhoney/pseuds/fullofbloodandhoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to You Know My Name (Look Up The Number). It wasn’t like they ever made it official. Yes, they lived together, they had sex, they ate pizza on the sofa while watching Doctor Who, but...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Honey Pie

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is another future!crisscolfer comedy, a sequel to You Know My Name (Look Up The Number), and it's a part of my New York Crisscolfer verse, which I keep affectionately calling _Rubber Soul Verse_ (because I'm a dork), but it can be totally read separately if you're not in a mood for getting-together fic (which YKNM totally is).   
>  Big thanks to Kat for beta-reading.

The first thing Darren ever bought for their New York apartment were sticky notes. And not just one set. He bought whole _boxes_ of them, stocking them neatly on top of the fridge. Chris wrote it off as one of his silly, spontaneous ideas (because really, he had witnessed Darren buying vintage tea strainers) and soon learned just to reach up and take one whenever he needed to write something down.

He was bent over the kitchen counter supporting himself on his elbows, pen tucked between his lips. His brow was furrowed as he tried to think of more items to put on his shopping list. Suddenly a warm hand slid down his side to his stomach, scratching lightly just above his belly button. Chris giggled, and Darren rested his chin on his shoulder, sighing contently.

“Hey, you,” he hummed with a smile.

“That’s not what the sticky notes are for, you know,” Darren said teasingly and nuzzled the spot under Chris’s ear, inhaling sharply through his nose. His free hand was still curled around Chris and he was holding a steaming mug in the other. Chris turned around to catch Darren’s lips in a chaste kiss. It tasted like Earl Grey and Friday afternoon.

“But they’re sticky notes, what else would they be for?”

“Oh. Just stuff. Secret Darren stuff not for Chris to know about yet,” winked Darren and took a sip from the mug, licking the leftover droplets off his lips with little dips of his tongue. Chris’s eyes zeroed in on that spot immediately, and he cleared his throat to gain some composure.

“I see,” he commented dryly. “You’re going to seduce me with tea and poetry. This is not Sense and Sensibility, you know. And I’m no Kate Winslet.”

Darren looked back at him with wide eyes, eyebrows disappearing under his messy bangs.

“And who said you’d be Marianne? I’ve got the hair, after all.”

“Well, I'm no Alan Rickman either.”

“You'd look sinful in riding pants, though.”

Chris blushed, stealing Darren’s mug just to have something to do with his hands and drank from it. He grimaced, because the constant drinking of tea was one of those things Darren did he’d probably never understand, but he loved them about Darren and loving Darren was _his_ thing, so...

“That's true,” he nodded seriously, setting the mug on the counter. “What astounds me though, is our shared knowledge of Jane Austen movies. I didn't know our nerdy roots were _that_ entangled.”

“Kinky,” Darren wiggled his eyebrows. “But hey, we're a couple, so it's a good thing. They should keep entangling, as far as I’m concerned.” Darren intertwined their fingers, bringing their joint hands to his mouth for a kiss.

Chris hesitated for a second.

“I... Are we, though?”

It wasn’t like they ever made it official. Yes, they lived together, they had sex, they ate pizza on the sofa while watching Doctor Who, but...

“Wait. Wasn't that clear?” Darren frowned, visibly confused, and Chris felt like kicking himself for putting that frown there. He didn’t need assurances. Hell, he’d be fine with _just_ the pizza (plus maybe some occasional sex, because the sex was amazing and hilarious and hot).

“No, it was. Is. but I just... No,” he stuttered, hanging his head. “I love you, Darren, I really do. I just feel like we haven’t actually _talked_ about it. Us. Are we boyfriends? Are we exclusive? Because I’m sure as hell not gonna share you.”

Darren shifted on his feet. Then, he took a deep breath.

“Here’s what I want, Chris; I want everything.” He kissed Chris’s hand again, making Chris’s heart pick up speed and _holy crap_ , he loved Darren so much.

“So what do we _do_ to make it official?” stressed Darren, continuing his impromptu speech. “Because I want us to be very official. I want us to invite friends over and have personalised cups with their names on them. I want to cook you a breakfast naked and then feed it to you, because you're always a little bit grumpy in the mornings, and then I want to take you right there when your mouth still tastes like sleep and blueberries, and then I want to do it again, just because we can,” he paused, hugging Chris so tight their bodies were pressed together from head to toe, clamping his mouth on Chris’s collar bone, nipping.

“I’m going to remind you,” he mumbled into Chris’s skin.

~

They were still in the phase of getting to know each other all over again, because two years was a long time, and Chris hadn't been sure whether Darren still kept all his guitar picks and his nana’s ring in an old cup. (It had a red and blue print of ladybirds on it.) He wanted to get to know him again. Everything there was to know about him.

He was already very well acquainted with the pale brown birthmark on Darren's upper back (licked over it every single time they showered together) and fascinated by the way Darren’s locks seemed to coil around his fingers when he tangled them in there. Darren, on the other hand, seemed to be especially fond of Chris’s shoulders and hipbones, sucking on them, leaving faint hickeys whenever he got the chance.

They co-functioned really well, falling into an easy routine; well, as much of a routine as two nerdy boys in their mid twenties could manage, anyway. There was a lot of sex, Chinese food and late night music sessions.

 

 

Chris was just about to sit down at his computer so he could type up few paragraphs before dinner when he noticed a sticky note glued to the screen.

_Kurt and Blaine_

The two names were written inside of a heart in Darren’s loopy scrawl. Chris smiled, remembering the first time he actually _talked_ to Darren. He had taken him to dinner to talk about their characters and to get to know each other. They had clicked right from the start, bonding over their mutual love of Ninja Turtles and Sour Skittles.

Pushing from the table, Chris padded into the kitchen where Darren was taking care of their dinner, wearing nothing but his boxers. He was shaking his ass to The Princess And The Frog soundtrack as he fried onions, his other hand playing imaginary accordion. Chris stared at him for a while, his eyebrows raised, taking in the view (it wasn’t bad).

“You know you could get burns from cooking naked.”

Darren turned around and grinned wickedly.

“You know you love my manly scars.”

“Shut up and kiss me, firefly.”

They shared little peck, smiling at each other.

Chris’s heart fluttered in his chest and his hand tightened around the piece of paper. Kurt and Blaine had been their starting point. But the present was so much better.

 

 

It was the first of the many sticky notes Darren had left in the apartment for Chris. He’d been finding them in all sorts of places since then: stuck to the bathroom mirror, under his pillow, folded neatly in half and tucked in the case for his glasses.

They were random words and things that reminded him of him and Darren. Sometime’s Chris would write back. A little message of his own on the back of the note, putting it into the pockets of Darren’s pants when he wasn’t wearing them (which wasn’t hard since Darren seemed to get rid of most of his clothes the moment he entered the apartment). They never talked about it, but Chris was certain they’d gone through several sets of sticky notes in just few weeks.

~

More often than not, Ashley would barge through their door (and really, Chris was starting to regret the whole Friends thing), bringing her cat and a bottle of wine with her. She’d plop herself on their sofa with a wide smile, demanding some quality entertainment.

She had soon gotten used to the idea of them being a couple (the exact words had been ‘took you long enough, morons’), but she’d also insisted they all hang out frequently, so they wouldn’t turn into sex-crazed hermits (which; come on, wasn’t true at all, because they were working all the time and wasn’t he shopping for milk and socks at Walmart last Thursday?).

Ashley’s cat was another story altogether. His name was Fred and Ashley still called him ‘her weetlee kitten’, even though in reality, he was a humongous fat ball of black fur with eyes like headlights that would follow Chris wherever he moved, staring at him intensely. Chris was convinced the creature was vicious, and not in the cool ThunderCats sort of way. It would climb up into their bed and press in between the two of them, purring hard as it rubbed itself against Chris’s sleeping body.  
He hated it. There was nothing worse than being woken up by cat’s whiskers up the nose.

Darren _loved_ Fred.

Fred, though, for some to Chris entirely fathomless reason, didn’t share his sympathies and decided to _love_ Chris.

And Chris guessed that somehow all was well, because Chris _loved_ Darren.

That way, everybody was loved. The circle of life.

Or at least it was, until one day Darren walked into the bedroom with a giant bruise on his thigh, side-eyeing the cat carefully, where it on the table next to Chris’s keyboard, still as a statue.

“What happened?” Chris’s eyes widened when he noticed the purpling spot.

“I was getting ready for a shower,” mumbled Darren.

“And that's how you got the Bruise of Doom? It's so gigantic we could probably name it and put it on a map!” Chris exclaimed, springing out of his chair to get a closer look. Darren hissed in pain as Chris’s fingers gently brushed over the edges.

“Seriously, D; It’s so huge you’re going to need to pay for an extra seat on a plane! It's-”

“Ok, I get it. I'm a klutz. But try taking your clothes off while simultaneously holding a towel around your hips. On slippery tiles.”

Chris’s eyebrows shot upwards.

“But why were you even doing that?”

Darren’s hand flew into his wet hair in what Chris knew was a nervous gesture.

“Fred didn't want to leave the bathroom,” he said finally.

“Wait. So you have a bruise in a size of Paramount on your leg just because you couldn’t change in front of the cat?”

Chris was just about to burst into giggles.

“Well, he was watching me. It felt awkward.”

“But you’re walking around naked, like, all the time _everywhere_!”

“I know! But his eyes were just so big and he... it was like stripping in front of a child.”

And Chris would have actually face-palmed if Darren hadn’t looked so ridiculous and hot at that moment. So in the end they ended up putting Fred into a temporary exile (they pushed him out of the door) so Chris could see into Darren’s medical problem more _thoroughly_.

~

Some days Darren would sit on the sofa wearing boxers and purple socks, composing. And he'd get stuck and cranky and a string of juicy swear words would fly out of his mouth and Chris would just about manage to click save on his document before the strong arms grabbed him. Because apparently, writer’s block was Darren’s aphrodisiac.

The first time they went _all the way_ was very much like that.

 

 

“Lose the socks, Darren, I _mean_ it,” Chris breathed, trying to toe off one of Darren’s socks by using his feet, almost turning into a pretzel in the process.

“Nu-huh. They stay on. They're my lucky purple socks.” Darren growled, attaching his mouth to Chris’s neck and nibbling at it.

“I'm not, _ahh_ , I’m not letting you fuck me with your socks on!” Chris exclaimed and tried to bite Darren’s elbow, which was too far away from his face, so he only managed to lick it a little.

“But that's unfair. I mean, I would totally let you leave something on, if you wanted.”

“And I will, if you don’t do as I ask. And it will be my underwear, because you won’t be getting any.”

It was so ridiculous, but even more ridiculous was that it was actually turning Chris on as they rolled around practically wrestling on the bed, sucking and biting and growling occasionally.

“How about a compromise, then? One sock?”

“Oh my god that is so not a compromise. That's even worse, you're just-”

Chris couldn’t finish the sentence because his mouth was suddenly full of Darren’s tongue as he lunged forward and mashed their lips together, kissing Chris deep and messy, and Chris was getting dizzy because there was no air and breathing through his nose was proving difficult when there was a mass of dark brown curls _everywhere_ in his face.

Darren rolled them over, pinning Chris to the mattress and holding his hands over his head while trailing kisses across his chest and scraping at his nipples with his teeth, making Chris swear like a sailor. There was a lot of kissing, sweet and slow alternating with biting and fast.

At one point they just looked at each other and Chris nodded, his insides flooded with delight when he saw Darren’s eyes darken, tongue subconsciously darting out to lick his lips.

The next moment, Darren was simultaneously trying to pull both of their underpants off while searching for the half-empty bottle of lube they kept under the pillow... only to fail at both. He cursed to himself so profoundly Chris burst out laughing and couldn’t stop even when Darren finally managed to retrieve the bottle and pushed a finger inside of him, pulling a smug face.

Chris sucked in a sharp intake of breath, his back arching a little. He hissed as their cocks brushed, his eyes screwing shut. It was almost too much. Darren’s fingers kept pressing into him, stretching him, making him squirm in anticipation, as Darren mumbled words of encouragement into his hair, licking over his ear every now and then.

Chris raised his legs and wrapped them around Darren’s back, giving him better access. Darren pulled out his fingers and looked his trembling body up and down, desire written all over his features.

Chris squirmed again, rocking up and down in the embrace, growing impatient.

“Stop staring at me, you creep, and get on with it,” he whined, pinching Darren in the shoulder.

“Hey, that’s abuse!” Darren puffed out, his expression mock-scandalised.

Chris groaned, lifting his head into a sloppy kiss, making it a point to bite down on Darren’s lower lip.

“Just _do_ it already,” he demanded, digging the heel of his foot into Darren’s ass, seeking more friction.

Darren laughed, bright and breathy, his curls bouncing on the top of his head.

“You’re so fucking bossy! I see how this is going to be.”

Darren dipped down for another kiss, this time feathery soft and sweet, more of a reassurance than anything else, looking into Chris’s eyes with a smile, making Chris scold a little, because he was _aching_ , and all this staring into each other’s eyes reminded him of unicorns, because that was how they fucked, and did Darren actually know how to fuck a guy or did he think tha-

Chris’s trail of thoughts got cut off as Darren slid into him, making them both cry out, and yeah, he definitely knew what he was doing. He moved fluidly within him, kissing his neck and his chest, one hand braced against the bed, the other stroking Chris’s hip in soothing circles.

They were panting and growling and Chris could swear Darren howled at some point and it was messy and ridiculous and _perfect_.

Needless to say, that in the end, Darren kept the socks on, anyway.

 

~

Relationships.

In theory, they were both new at this. Chris had never had a serious boyfriend and Darren had never had a boyfriend, period. Chris wasn't a girl and he made it a point to remind it Darren as often as possible. Usually he didn't have to, because a certain body part of his did it for him every morning as they laid curled on the left side of the bed (which was making Chris a little bit grumpy because there was going to be a dip if they kept using only that one side).

And there had been that one incident when Chris told Darren about his dream in which they had sex in Buckingham Palace which made Darren snort apple juice over the entire living room.

Darren was a ball of energy, particularly in the mornings, his smile so wide it filled the whole room, and there were moments Chris felt like he couldn't breathe because Darren was _everywhere_ , bouncing off the walls and flailing out of the windows, and he smelled like coffee and fresh New York Times ink.

They usually just hung out in the apartment in their free time, hiding from the eyes of prying fans, Chris typing with his glasses sliding down his nose, almost static aside from the blur of his fingers.

They never really fought. Except for that one time when Darren locked himself up in the spare room.

It was always about the same thing:

“You need to make up your mind about this. I wish you had more faith in us.”

“I’m just scared of the reactions, D, That’s all.”

Chris felt like Darren had always been implying that he didn’t love him. That he didn’t want him. But he couldn’t have been further from the truth. Chris practically lived off their relationship. He needed Darren. He loved him. He loved him so much he had to bite his pillow to keep himself from randomly bursting out laughing at nights. He was happy and it was pissing him off that Darren couldn’t see that. But things weren’t so simple and there was this whole fucking world outside waiting for them to screw up.

“We can totally screw up, Chris. Nobody’s perfect. But I think we’re the next best thing, I really do. And if you just-“

“Would you stop doubting me?” exclaimed Chris, finally finding his lost voice. “This is not about us, this is not about me loving you. This is about what this whole thing,” he waved his hands between them, “is. You think everything is a piece of rainbow cake, but it’s not.”

Darren’s face hardened and he turned his back on Chris, sighing.

“Look, I want the whole deal. We love each other. It’s supposed to work. I just don’t understand your angle here. I’ll... Just give me some space and we’ll figure it out later.”

 

 

Chris went straight to Ashley’s after that incident, hands shaking as he slipped through the door, burying his face in her cardigan.

“I think I really, _really_ screwed up, Ashley,” he piped after a while.

She made him a drink and sat him down on her couch, patiently waiting for him to open up. They were best friends and she knew him better than he knew himself. He knew she wouldn’t judge him but that she would be honest with him. Chris told her everything. All about the insecurities, the fear of going public and the sticky notes.

“I just don’t know, anymore, and it's getting hardcore and he's getting frustrated and your cat is not helping,” he sighed, downing the contents of his glass and setting it back on the table.

“Look, Colfer; just this once, I'm going to play the role of the Wise Baboon and tell you to ‘look beyond what you see’,” she told him, taking a sip of her own drink.

Chris groaned.

“God, Ash. Don't pull Lion King on me now of all times! I'm not good with metaphors! I can do sarcasm, that’s my happy place.”

“Ok. I'll pull Glee on ya, then, because do you even _remember_ why we moved to New York in first place?”

Chris stared back at her blankly, confused.

“So you could bang on my door at midnight to force your cat on me and get away with it?”

“No,” she shook her head and patted his shoulder. “This city is _magical_. You've lived here for two months and you haven't been anywhere yet. Let alone together as a couple.”

“Like on a date?”

“Do you remember what Finn did back in season two when he wanted Rachel back?”

“He gave her a pig?” Chris tried, chewing on his lower lip.

“He took her on a romantic date in New York, you moron!” she exclaimed enthusiastically as if it solved all of his problems.

“Oh, come on, Fink. You know I _can't_ do romantic!”

“Looks like you're gonna have to, though. Just take him somewhere he'll like and buy him coffee and flowers, ok?”

“Fine. It’s tea, though,” he murmured to himself and pulled his phone out to send Darren a quick text.

~

“So, that was nice,” said Darren, a soft smile playing on his lips, as they entered the apartment, pleasantly spent after a whole day of walking. He was still clutching the small bouquet of yellow tulips Chris had given him, brushing it against his lips every now and then, as if to make sure it was still there.

Chris made a mental note to buy another one for Ashley, too, because the whole date had been an amazing success. They had explored the city hand in hand, soaking in the atmosphere, stopping at all the touristy spots and showering each other with ice-cream favoured kisses.

They had drunk in the city and the city had swallowed them up, blending them all together and giving it all some sense. And also making Chris sure that this was the place to spend the rest of his life at, along with the man he loved.

“It was. Very nice,” Chris nodded, sighing. He reached for Darren’s hand and intertwined their fingers again.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I just – wasn’t sure what I was doing, I guess,” he admitted. “I know it now, though.”

Darren smiled back, wide and shiny, the pad of his thumb brushing over Chris’s pulse point.

“I want to hold your hand at the remake of the first Pokémon movie and not care that eight-year-olds will see us,” he said quietly, almost whispering it.

“Are you still keeping your guitar-picks in the ladybird cup?” asked Chris.

Darren nodded.

“When you get stuck in your writing, do you still type up paragraph symbols till you can think of the next sentence?”

Chris nodded and his smile widened as Darren pulled at his hand and lead him into the bedroom, making him gasp between the doors.

The place was practically wallpapered with sticky notes; pink, blue, green and yellow everywhere, making Chris a little bit dizzy. He took a step in, his eyes huge as they swept across the little pieces of paper, taking in the writings.

_Dublin. Diet Coke and apple juice. Purple socks. Fred’s whiskers. Tea and coffee._

_Hogwarts._

_LA_

_New York._

Somehow, Darren had managed to collect all of the sticky notes they had swapped throughout the month, and glued them to every surface of the bedroom imaginable. They were covering the wall, the bed, the bedside tables and the lamps, they were even on the ceiling, most of them yellow and blue, making Chris feel like the sky was falling down on them.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page now,” said Darren and dragged Chris onto the bed, kissing him softly. The sticky notes scratched against Chris’s skin, making it feel like it was on fire, drawing little groans out of his mouth.

They peeled off their clothes without a word and slid under the paper covers, taking each other deep and slow and for once without giggles.

~

The sun was setting behind the window, painting the bedroom smoky blue.

Chris had just awakened from his nap, blinking himself into consciousness only to find Darren staring at him intently from where he was laying on his side, looking almost mellow, his expression blissed-out.

“Darren.”

“Mm?”

Chris twisted his head so he could get a better look of his back, eyebrows flying upwards.

“There’s a sticker on my ass.“

“I know.“ Darren continued staring at Chris’s face without a single blink.

“Why _is_ there a sticker on my ass?”

Chris reached behind his back and caught the little piece of paper between his fingers, squinting at the writing.

He could have sworn his whole body tingled when he read it.

_Darren’s._

 

 

**-the end**

come see [this tumblr photo-set](http://bentbackedtulip.tumblr.com/post/19549725619/the-crisscolfer-apartment-in-nyc-rubber-soul), because that's what their apartment (and Fred the kitten) look like  



End file.
